The High Life
by Voracious
Summary: Sometimes, when you're young, you do things you regret. You get caught up in having the time of your life. But what do you have to do before those things are forgiven, even after we've tried to bury them? COMPLETED


The High Life

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Man, you look good. It's been a while, yeah? It's the funniest thing. I wasn't even _thinking _of you when I was driving by. I think I'd forgotten, as a matter of fact. And then all of a sudden -- _wham_! -- I had to see you. Isn't that _weird_?

You don't know what I had to go through to find you, too. People 'round here, they're not real helpful. Or friendly. They were like that even back before . . . well, _you_ know. I guess I was expecting it, really. All I had to do was mention your name and the smiles would melt right off their faces and doors would be shut in my face. But I don't mind. Heck, I've gotten used to it! And I _did _find you after all, even if I had to do a little digging to do it.

Man, you look _good_! Have I said that already? I don't mean to go on, but it's the truth. You kept real well. And we haven't seen each other in, what, five years? But, gosh! It's like we never parted. Talking to you just feels so _real_. So _natural_, you know?

I guess I should tell you what I've been up to, yeah? I mean, I just show up out of nowhere and drag you all the way out here to talk . . . you've _got _to be curious. I mean, I wrote you letters -- believe me, _tons _of them -- but they all just got sent back. Oh, I'm not blaming _you_. I know _you'd _never do that. Could be a glitch in the postal service, but I don't think so. I think it's your parents. You know they never liked me.

Let's see . . . wow, where to start? Well, when I finally got out, I drifted around a while. I don't mind telling you, I was completely aimless, didn't know what the hell to do with myself. And, I don't mean to sound like this is bragging or anything, because I'm not really proud of it, I mean, _at all_, but there were other girls too. And I say girls, because none of them could really compare to you. Heck, they were basically just _kids_. They didn't know what they wanted and neither did I, so I always wound up ending things quickly. Believe me, it's all dead and buried, all over with. And even though I didn't realise it, you know, I think . . . I think I was thinking about you a lot, too. It's like . . . you were always in the back of my mind, I guess.

. . . is it just me, or is it getting colder out here?

. . . anyway. I'm sure you don't wanna hear about all my old flings. I mean, I don't want you to get the wrong idea and think I'm fishing around or anything. Heck no. I mean, I'm sure you've already moved on. I dunno if you have a new boyfriend, I mean, but you don't seem like you've been busy. Not that that's a bad thing, of course . . . it's good to take things slow.

And this place . . . hell, this place doesn't look like it's changed a bit.

. . . well, outwardly, I mean. You'd never find this many people out after dark when I used to live here, but _sheesh_! Good for them, y'know? Live a little.

I always used to say that, remember? You never really wanted to _do _anything.

In fact, you were a bit of a tight-ass.

. . . I could even say you were a bit of a frigid cunt sometimes.

. . . fuck, would it have killed you to loosen up a little? Jesus, you could be such a snobby little bitch sometimes. You hardly ever talked to me, and . . . and, fuck, you only went out with me after my dad got that promotion.

. . . yeah, I know you said you were sorry.

. . . in the end.

. . . I'm sorry.

Wow! Wow, I'm sorry. Gosh, I am. I didn't mean any of that. You know I always loved you. Right?

I guess I'm sort of nervous. You know, being back here, and all. People weren't really friendly with me when I left.

And in fact . . . I'd say some of them are downright _hostile _now.

But none of it matters, I guess. I don't care what anyone thinks, really.

. . . being out here, alone at night . . . it's sort of . . . romantic, don't you think?

. . . gosh, but your hand is cold.

And . . . did you hear something?

. . . I guess you're right. You know me. I've always been a little . . . a little crazy sometimes. Jumpy. You know, a little . . . overreacting. But you saw right through me, didn't you? In the end, you said you loved me, and that's what matters. Even if nobody else believed me when I told them.

. . . baby?

. . . what's . . . what's that in your hand?

. . . _who's there?!_

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Author's Note: "The High Life" is an odd little narrative of a story, and one I wrote in about five minutes. It's sort of an experimental style, but you don't have to be hand-held through a story all the time. I'm not sure if the meaning is clear (I'll say that this doesn't tie in with any of the "Silent Hill" game storylines, but plays off of the town itself), but "Silent Hill" has always been a profound story for me, and one of the few truly frightening ones out there, game or otherwise. Imagine, a place sitting out in the middle of nowhere like some fat poisonous spider, waiting to pull you in for your sins wether you've tried to atone or not.

Even if you think you've gotten away with them. Or tried your best to forget.


End file.
